


Become the target and the gun

by captainmarvel (DramionesLady)



Category: Marvel (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (I promise), Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Non-Linear Narrative, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Red Room (Marvel), breakfast food is the way to my heart, lots of cereal, some of the time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-13 15:54:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14751854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DramionesLady/pseuds/captainmarvel
Summary: Then: Natalia, Red room operative, is assigned to assassinate an up-and-coming threat: Commander Maria Hill.Now: Nat and Maria deal with the fallout from the SHIELD intel leak of CA:TWS.OR: a story about found families, cats, and a whole lot of cereal.





	1. tau(gh)t

**Author's Note:**

> So this is ongoing, I'm not sure how long it'll be yet, but I wanted to get the first chapter up nonetheless!  
> Title is from 'Your Fake Name is Good Enough for Me' by Iron & Wine.

_then_

Natalia Romanova stood, hands clasped behind her back, awaiting instruction.  Her foot had worked its way into a cramp, the sensation curling her muscles in pain, crawling up her calf, but she pointedly ignored it.  _Spiders weave, but they do not feel._

The man in front of Natalia examined her closely, watching, she knew, for any signs of distress, any flicker of weakness.  He was loaded with so many weapons it was like watching a walking armoury.  It had taken time, over the years, for them to learn how many weapons it would take to subdue her.  The effect was macabre.  Natalia eyed the taser strapped to his forearm, memories of its bite skittering across her mind.  Still, she held her position, spine so straight it had slipped past taut and into statue territory.  She was like a ballerina, frozen in a music box, performing her one and only routine.  

The man took a step backwards, jaw clenched, and Natalia heard the grind of his teeth.  The sound was jarring in the otherwise-quiet of the little room, and she resisted the urge to furrow her brow. Statues don’t make faces, after all.  Apparently content with his appraisal, the man turned away from her, walking to the chair propped against the wall and taking a seat.  

“New target,” the man spoke at last.  He was a recent addition to the Red Room’s commanders, but given the apathetic tone with which he gave the order, Natalia guessed that he wasn’t new to the job itself, but just the location. “Level 7.  America. Rising threat. Intelligence community.” He reached into the pocket of his uniform, withdrawing a cluster of photographs, which he held up for Natalia to see.  Surveillance shots, grainy, taken from a distance.  Natalia simply observed, and said nothing.

“Commander Maria Hill,” the disgust in his voice was tangible, polluting the very air between them.  Natalia took a deep breath, imagined herself ingesting that hate, capturing it as her motive.  _You shouldn’t need a motive_ , a small part of her argued. _You are a weapon._ She exhaled, as if to expel the thought, and gave the man a nod.  

“Timeframe?” Natalia asked.  Her voice felt jagged from disuse.    

“The Red Room requires confirmed kill in 48 hours,” the man replied, looking unhappy that she’d spoken. Or, perhaps disturbed was more accurate.  “Stealth required.  Departure is imminent.” With that he stood, dropping the photos at Natalia’s feet, exiting the briefing room without a backwards glance.

When a few moments had passed, and she was confident he wouldn’t be back, Natalia dropped to her knees, gathering the photos.  She let out a hushed noise of relief as the weight transferred from her cramping leg, and began to examine her intel.  It was pretty minimal stuff, but that was no surprise.  The less she was told, the less she could betray.  Soviet rule number one.  The rest she’d have to find out for herself.

She ran her hand over the glossy paper, studying every pixel of the surveillance photos.  The woman in the pictures - the _target_ \- looked young, early to mid-twenties, if she had to guess.  In one of the photos she wore what Natalia recognised as Marines dress blues.  In another, she was talking to a man wearing an eyepatch.  Natalia knew him, too.  Nicholas J. Fury.  The Red Room had sent Natalia on a recon mission concerning him when she’d just finished her training. Fury had been nearly impossible to tail.  The repercussions for the ‘inadequate’ intel she’d gathered on him had left Natalia with a scar on her hip, and a near-perfect record since.  Her commanders had creative ways of ensuring progress. Many lessons had been learnt.

(She wore ballet shoes, balanced on knife points, a gun in her hand, pointed at a target, a timer on the wall.  Blood coated her feet, but when she wavered, if her arm lowered, there was a shout, and the clock was reset. Red of her hair, red soaking through the soles of her shoes, red in the shower, red sewn into her uniform, her tutu, red under her nails.)

A shout came from down the hallway, a call to attention. Natalia jumped to her feet, shuffling the photographs into a pile, and moved to the doorway, watching the approaching officer. 

The woman, far taller than Natalia, peered down at her in disdain, twirling a baton in her hand. Natalia didn't know her name. They'd stopped giving her officer's names when she'd hacked the compound's server with one. That had required another lesson. 

Natalia looked back at the officer, noting a strand of blonde hair that had come loose from her bun. She tilted her head the smallest amount to observe it better, wondering how her superiors would react to such an insult to the regime. The woman, apparently provoked by Natalia's mere gaze, brought down her baton in an arcing motion, driving the end into Natalia's solar plexus. 

Natalia winced, muscles seizing as the breath was driven from her, feeling the photographs in her hand crumple as her hands tightened around them. 

"Observation is not for within these walls," the officer said, looking at Natalia expectantly. 

"Observation is not for within these walls," Natalia repeated through laboured breaths. 

"Departure now, Widow. Move." 

Natalia inclined her head, and made to leave. The officer followed, two steps behind her. She hoped the officer was only accompanying her to the plane, and not to America. Sometimes they sent one with her, to watch her work.

As they reached the entryway to the hangar, the officer halted, and Natalia followed suit. 

"For the glory of Russia," she said, in lieu of goodbye. Small mercy, it looked like she'd be staying this side of the Atlantic, for today at least. 

"And the honour of the Academy," Natalia replied automatically. 

The officer took a tactical bag from the young man standing at the door, and thrust it into Natalia's arms. 

"48 hours." She said.

"It will be done," Natalia replied. And it would.  

 ***

_now_

Maria sat at her desk, just about managing to stop herself from bashing her head against it. 

_Fucking Stark, and his fucking security measures._

She was going to strangle him. Full on strangulation station. After the complete disaster that was DC, taking a job with him had been a necessity. An awful, constant-test-of-her-willpower necessity. Another five consecutive 'dings' from her e-mail notifications had Maria growling, rubbing a hand over the back of her neck. 

There was an urgent rap on her door, but before Maria could answer, Nat was strolling in, and launching herself into the seat across the desk from Maria's. 

"I need your workout bra," Nat said. Maria made a noise of indignation. 

"Why, hello Nat, how are you? Do you want to take me out for dinner first?"  

Nat quirked an eyebrow at her, "I'm pretty sure we're past that point in our relationship," she drawled, gesturing to the little figurine of 'Black Widow: Avenger!' on her desk. 

"That was Stark's idea of a joke," Maria retorted. 

"Oh, I know," Nat patted Maria's hand, "but that was three months ago, Hill." 

"It's an ongoing bit," Maria said dryly. 

"Of course it is," Nat nodded as she stood, walking around the desk and swivelling Maria's chair to face her. Maria settled her hands on Nat's hips. 

"And why do you need my bra?" Maria asked. 

"I'm doing a load of laundry," Nat replied, looking almost sheepish. 

"So you came all the way down here just to get it?" Maria's voice was doubtful. "There's these amazing inventions called phones, Nat. You can communicate with people on them, without having to be in the same room." 

Nat rolled her eyes, and pulled back from Maria's grasp. "We're also out of cereal," Nat added. 

"We're perpetually out of cereal, what else is new?" Maria said. She watched the strain on Nat's face, the unease in her eyes. The smile on Maria's face turned into something more serious, professional. Hello, Commander. 

"It's the Room, isn't it?" Maria asked, voice low. They'd been expecting it, after all.

Nat took a shaky breath, running her hands over her arms. 

"It seems Congress aren't the only ones who read my intel-dump," Nat said in confirmation, raising her shoulders in a 'what can you do?' kind of motion. It was an attempt at nonchalance, but it only served to reveal the tension Nat was holding there. 

Maria grasped onto Nat's hand, "hey, it's different now. You've got a team. You've got _me_." 

"Oh they'll love that," Nat let out a hollow-sounding chuckle. "My target." She gestured at Maria's chest, hand pointed in a poor imitation of a gun, before laying her palm flat over the beat of her heart. Maria placed her own hand there, holding Nat's in place. After a second, Maria raised Nat's hand to her face, placing the barest hint of a kiss on the inside of her wrist.

"What do you need from me?" Maria asked, in her patented Deputy Director voice. 

Nat considered the question, considered the woman before her, offering everything she had to give.  "Fancy a road trip?" Nat asked. They'd talked about this, once. Maria would know what she was implying. 

"Well, I think Stark owes me some vacation time," Maria glanced at her computer screen, then gave Nat a small smile. "Consider it done." 

"Maria..." Nat said, an unspoken question lingering on her tongue. 

"Yes, I want to do this. Yes, I know the dangers. Let's go home, Nat." Maria stood, bumping her shoulder gently against Nat's own. 

"Let's go home," Nat replied. 


	2. ru(i)n

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been consumed by this idea for a while, so it's great to finally get it down! Enjoy!

 

_now_

Nat unlocked the door to their apartment, ushering Maria through before she followed suit.  

Liho came mewling along the corridor to greet them, pouncing on the trailing end of Nat’s shoelaces.  

“Sort out your cat,” Nat groaned, trying to step out of her shoes without knocking into Liho.  

Maria dropped their grocery bag onto the counter, then kicked off her heels, chucking one in Nat’s direction with a huff, “How many times have we had this conversation? She’s _your_ cat.”

Nat caught the shoe mid-trajectory, smiling, “Why’s that, again?” Sometimes, Maria was just too easy to tease.  

“Oh, you don’t remember? Did you ingest some of that alien goo on your last Avenger’s outing?” Maria mimed an explosion.

Their last mission had been pretty chaotic.  The villain-of-the-week had managed to get hold of some Chitauri blood, and had engineered it to act as a drug that basically wiped away happy memories.  It had been messy.  Stark’s suit had looked like it’d been submerged in a slime tank.  The team’d had to have scalding disinfectant showers when they’d got back to base. Nat had texted Steve, away on his own quest, some pretty interesting selfies.

“Well, I still remember what we did in bed last night, so…” Nat shrugged.  “I guess it depends on whether that was good or bad.”  Maria threw her other shoe at her, with deliberately terrible aim. 

“It was good, jackass,” Maria said, but she was grinning. She _knew_ how good she’d been.

“Yeah,” Nat replied, sobering.  She bent to scoop up Liho, feeling her purr rumble against her chest.

“So…” Maria began, relaxing into one of their armchairs. Nat knew that ’so’, it meant, ‘whatever you’re comfortable with, you take it from here’.

Nat settled into the chair opposite, watching Liho wind into her favourite spot, curled under Nat’s arm.

“I,” Nat started, locking eyes with the other woman.  “I had an SOS through from Steve, he and Sam are over in Eastern Europe still, following Ja-, _Bucky_. They saw signs, whole facilities plastered in released SHIELD files.”

Steve had sent through pictures. Walls and walls of intel on _her,_ and on offshoots of the web, on Maria, on the other Avengers _._ Nat was surprised she hadn't had to foil any attempted hits yet. The message was pretty clear, it was painted over every document on display. _Search and destroy._

“How’d Sam and Steve get tangled up in Red Room business?” Maria asked.

“My history with the Soldier?” Nat said it like a question.  As if Maria could forget. She nodded. “Well, it looks like they've been filled in,” Nat explained. “Completely, this time.”

Her covers, her facades were bleeding together, like ink soaking through paper. The pages were getting harder and harder to separate.

“Their search took them through an old facility,” Nat picked at a loose thread on the arm of her chair.  “It shouldn’t surprise me, I suppose, connections between the Room and Hydra.” Nat felt her voice falter over the final word. 

Maria watched Nat carefully, taking in every micro-expression she had to work with.  

"Why would they leave their intel out in the open like that? Compromising..." 

"They want me to know," Nat was certain of the fact. "This is personal, it's got to be the work of an officer I knew directly.”

“Where do you want to go from here?” Maria asked, leaning forwards, forearms resting on her knees.

“I want to get out there, find out who’s orchestrating this, who has been gathering the intel.  The intel I put out there,” Nat leaned back, staring at the ceiling. 

“It isn’t your fault, Nat.”

“My choice-“

“ _Our_ choice. we made it together. That choice kept us all alive,” Maria interrupted.  “You did what had to be done, Nat, there’s not one of our team who blames you for it.”

Nat had felt that way too, when she had been speaking before the Senate, but then the repercussions had started to escalate.  

Their own agents, deep undercover, exposed.

Storage facilities, ransacked.

Hydra may have sunk with the Helicarriers, but it’d taken more than just the name of SHIELD down with it.

They’d known the risks, had argued their worth to Fury, but seeing their livelihood fall to ruin was still painful to watch.  

“I’ve got suspects,” Nat said. “But there’s a bit of a complication.”

“No names?” Maria hazarded, from what she knew of Nat’s time in the Room.

“Exactly.  How are we going to find people that don’t exist on paper?”

Maria slid forwards, moving off of her chair and kneeling on the floor before Nat. “Well, we took down a robot that could predict the future, so I’d say anything’s possible,” she said, resting a hand on Nat’s thigh.

“Optimism, Commander? That’s a good look on you.”

“Well, I’ve got the best partner in the business,” Maria said. “We can figure this out.” 

“You know what this could mean,” Nat looked at her, stoic mask in place.  “Me, doing that _thing_ I don't do anymore." 

"You're not that person now, Nat," Maria sat back on her heels, looking up at Nat's face. "If that's what it takes, it won't be the same." 

"That may be part of the problem," Nat whispered. "Before, I'd find them, whatever it took. Without mercy, without thought..." 

"Without backup," Maria added. "You've got that advantage now." 

Nat got to her feet, pulling Maria up with her. She rested her head against Maria's shoulder. "I'll make a map of the known facilities," she spoke the words into the fabric of Maria's jacket. 

"I'll get the fuel," Maria gestured to their grocery bag, stuffed with brightly coloured boxes. 

Later, when a good few bowls of 'Avenger-O's' had been consumed (whoever had orchestrated the Avenger's own cereal line deserved a raise, in Nat's opinion), Nat stepped back, looking over her work. The map was fairly sparse, but the noted locations were very detailed. The Room had kept permanent bases to a minimum for this very purpose; less chance of leaks. 

Most of the facilities were overseas, predictably, but there were a smattering of safe houses in the US Nat wanted to check first. 

One in DC, in fact. The Room had been particularly proud of that, to have a holding right in the city of American power. 

“Ready to take down another rogue organisation?” Maria asked, casually resting her hand on the small of Nat’s back.  

Nat turned to face Maria, her whole demeanour shifting, slipping into an uncanny echo of Stark’s most infuriating, with her drawl of “sweetheart, I thought you’d never ask” following suit.  It was a trick she liked to employ, when Maria’d had a bad day, and needed to laugh.

Though really, it was Nat who must be needing the laugh. She had this habit, though, of ensuring Maria was calm to soothe her own mind. SHIELD’s best kept secret? Their most feared agent had a heart of gold, even after all she’d been through.  

Maria rolled her eyes, the laughter bubbling forth even as she attempted to look disinterested.  

_Oh, what I wouldn’t do for you._

 

***

 _then_  

Natalia pulled on the strings of her hoodie, assuming a position of disinterest on the park bench. 

She had landed in DC in the early hours of the morning, when the city was rumbling with life in the dark, like some great dragon trying to get to sleep. 

She’d headed straight for the address given in the minimal briefing pack an officer had tossed her way on the plane. It was the target's apartment, and Natalia had scaled the fire escape of the building across the street to scope out the security measures of the surrounding area. 

Having done so quickly, she'd made use of the vantage point to deduce which of the windows belonged to the target's home. Natalia had crouched there, staring at Hill's window, searching for any signs of movement, until her eyes turned bleary and she had trouble focusing. There was a very real possibility, of course, that the target could simply be asleep, which would render this whole exercise pointless. Well, she knew her handlers would think it pointless whether she saw anything or not. This was a stealth kill mission, not a recon. 

Even so, Natalia found herself looking at the curtain-draped window, imagining what was beyond it. The target was ex-military, would that mean the whole apartment was regimentally clean? Could she sleep in a normal bed, after the brutality of her tours? Natalia realised she was hypothesising, she had no idea if Hill — if the _target_ — had even seen actual combat. The Widow didn't need to know her résumé in order to take her out. After all, this was to be a sniper kill, no close-range combat required. 

But she needed this information, for her ledger. It was something she kept note of, not on paper but in the back of her mind, the details of her targets. _To enhance my performance_. The idea sent something prickling down the back of Natalia's neck, a sensation that had her fidgeting on her perch. 

Putting the feeling down to her hunched muscles, Natalia stood suddenly, stretching her arms above her head. There was a sliver of gold on the horizon, the sun just beginning to wink into existence. _How long have I been watching?_ Natalia wondered, starting to descend from her post. If, as she suspected, the target had not been home —there were still no signs of life from the window, and Natalia knew from her briefing the hours Hill worked, meaning she should be up by now — there was another place to check, her office.

A few floors down from Natalia's position a window was cracked open, and she could hear a radio blaring. She peered into the apartment the noise was sounding from as she made her way down, curious. There was a bright box of something labelled 'Lucky Charms' propped just inside the windowsill. From the packaging, she realised it was food. Checking to ensure she wouldn't be seen, Natalia reached past the window's threshold, grasping a handful of what turned out to be cereal. At least, she thought it was cereal. Nothing she'd eaten before, at the Room or on other missions, had looked quite like this. She took a bite from her hand as she sped down the last few flights of stairs, dropping onto the street without making a noise. 

The cereal was sugary, coating her mouth with its sweetness, and Natalia ran her tongue over her teeth to catch every last molecule of it.  Better than the MRE's inside her bag, that's for sure. _Better to taste, not better to fuel you, Widow._ Natalia imagined it was that blonde officer telling her that, correcting her course. She began a brisk walk, swinging her bag round to her front in order to extract a small rations pouch and a bottle of water. 

Natalia stuck to the back streets, tearing open the pouch with her teeth, as she made her way across DC. She'd studied a map of the city on the plane, and her brain was consumed by recalling it, visualising herself moving through it like a maze, as she ate her assigned meal.

It wasn’t long before Natalia had finished her ration pack, chasing the taste away with a swig of water. She wasn't sure what the brown square was supposed to have been, but whatever it had been masquerading as, it’d done a poor job.

_I never do a poor job, I cannot do a poor job. I could convince a man I am his mother reincarnate._

She had, in fact, done just that on a mission in Madripoor. The target had worn brogues and a three-piece green suit, deep as moss.

Mission: Infiltrate, torture, then dispose of. 

Knife wounds.

Cause of death: Suffocation.

The details came forth without Natalia's consent, spreading across her mind like paper strewn across a table. Her ledger was detailed, and eager to assist. After all, that's why she'd constructed it. 

Natalia came to a halt at the edge of a row of trees, settling in their shadows, blinking to send away the images. She unscrewed her bottle and poured water over the back of her neck to shock herself back into focus.  Satisfied, Natalia placed her empty ration pack and the bottle back in her bag, glancing at her watch — six hours gone — then up at the sight before her.

The calm waters of the Potomac glistened in the rising sun, and in the centre of it all, on a little island of its own, rested the humungous building of the Triskelion. Natalia took a centering breath, then emerged from the cover of the trees’ shade, approaching a cluster of tables and chairs belonging to a cafe cart that perched on the waterfront. 

Its patrons were an eclectic mix of business-types in suits and tourists, chattering away in their many languages. Natalia allowed the buzz of conversation to pass through her, but as she had suspected, nothing she heard was of any interest to the mission.

Though, apparently, the iced tea from this cart was better than a young man’s grandmother's, a sentiment that earned him a playful swat to the head from the woman next to him. This began a rapid ranking of all the iced tea the family had ever consumed, their voices growing louder and louder as everyone strained to be heard. _Italian_ , Natalia noted, _central, from their enunciation_.

She skirted around their table, using the opportunity of the family's distraction to swipe a hoodie from the back of one woman's chair. Quickly moving away from the cart, Natalia pulled on the garment, walking along the path that ran parallel to the water. She wanted to blend in, and carrying a tac bag seemed only plausible if you were military or a backpacking tourist. Natalia thought the latter would bring her less unwanted attention. 

A few minutes later, having acquired a pair of sunglasses, and an 'I LOVE DC' sticker to affix to her bag, Natalia considered her guise complete, and came to rest on one of the park benches lining the waterfront. 

Natalia pulled on the strings of her hoodie, adjusting her position on the bench. From the angle she was sat at, the Triskelion seemed buzzing with energy.  She could see a mass of people hurrying to and fro behind its vast windows as they arrived at their office, and the way the sunlight caught on the glass made it seem like the building itself was casting light out onto the city.

Natalia leaned back, thinking over what she knew about the target’s schedule.  Her briefing pack had highlighted this hour of day as a possible window for action, but she knew that it wasn’t the time yet.  _I need to see her first_. Natalia couldn’t say why the thought was so adamant.  For the sake of her ledger, she’d guess. 

The intel on Hill had stated that at this time of day, without fail, she went for a run around the path that hugged the riverbank, spread out before Natalia, yet at present it was empty in both directions.  

She sat there, settling into a meditative state, still and alert, for what felt like hours, but was more likely merely minutes, before she saw anyone.  That happened to Natalia, sometimes; time seemed to elongate, as if providing her with the chance to observe every atom of every moment. She imagined it would be like walking in the river before her, her legs dragging against the current, ruled by a different element than the rest of her body.  

A man walked by, pushing a toddler in a stroller, chatting loudly on his phone.  

A pair of old ladies hobbled along, bickering in Spanish so rapidly that Natalia could hardly keep up with their arguments.  

She continued to watch the passersby as the sun maintained its ascent, wondering if, like her apartment vigil, this too would prove useless.  As she began to accept the fact, pulling her bag towards her, ready to write the morning off as a result of poor intel ( _The Red Room makes no errors, Natalia_ , she recalled the mantra of the officer who trained her) the sound of running shoes hitting the pavement had Natalia slowing her movements. She glanced in the direction of the noise, and, yes, it was the target.

Natalia peered down at her watch, showing that Hill was fifty minutes off of her schedule.  _Surely she can’t know she’s being tailed?_ Natalia reached into her bag, withdrawing her water bottle, busying herself with the lid.

Hill was getting closer, and she watched her approaching silhouette reflected in the shine of her bottle.  Non-direct contact, watch without looking.  

Natalia felt, rather than saw, the target pass her bench, marked by that minuscule shift in the air as something rushes past you.  She raised her head, figuring that she was in the clear, but to Natalia’s surprise Hill had come to a standstill.  

 _What is she doing?_ Natalia wondered, as the target turned abruptly on her heel, and began confidently striding over to the bench she was sat on.  Natalia’s right hand edged into her bag, feeling for the knife she had concealed there.  If she was compromised, this would be turning into more of a spectacle than the Room had ordered.

 _Stealth required,_ the briefing had said.

Hill came to a stop on Natalia’s left, and she heard the woman regulating her breathing.  _Ready to fight?_ How she even knew Natalia’s face was a mystery, it was one of Russia’s best kept secrets.  

Her handlers would not be pleased.  

The target lifted her leg, as if to pull back for a kick, and Natalia felt her hand tighten around the handle of the knife.  Before she could withdraw it, though, Hill’s foot was descending, landing squarely on the bench next to Natalia.  

She looked down, in stupefied relief for a moment, only to see that the target’s shoelace had come undone.  It seemed ridiculous, to feel so consoled because of a simple length of cotton.  The shoelaces were grey, the same shade as the path the target had been running on.  Natalia stowed away the information, watching as Hill efficiently re-tied her shoe.

No lessons would be required, Natalia had not failed the Regime.   

“You’re not from around here, are you?” The voice startled Natalia, and it must have shown, because then the target was hiding a smile behind her hand.  

“No,” she replied. “I’m on vacation.” Hill’s eyes narrowed, and Natalia wondered what she’d said wrong. 

“And how are you finding our country?” Hill replied, and there was something different about her voice, somehow.  

“Interesting,” Natalia replied, and then, as she heard her own words, it clicked.  She’d answered Hill’s initial question in Russian, and the other woman had switched to speaking it as well.  _Fuck_. 

“What brings you to DC?” Hill said, once again in Russian, just as Natalia asked, feeling unnerved, 

“You speak Russian?” 

“Yes.” Hill waved her hand, dismissive. Natalia realised the redundancy of her question.  Obviously she spoke Russian.

“The history,” Natalia replied to Hill’s query, this time in English, gesturing to the building on the water.

“The history of the Triskelion?” Hill asked, bemused. Natalia felt a wave of heat rise over her cheeks.  What was happening to her? She’d never had trouble stringing together a cover story before.  There was something about the intensity of Hill’s eyes on her face that had Natalia stumbling to connect her thoughts.

 _The target’s eyes_ , she amended, feeling as if she’d been whisked back in time to her training missions, the unease of a rickety persona about to come crashing down.  

(Mission: Latveria.

Seduce and kill.

She’d been on comms the entire time, her handlers hearing every word. The mission was a success, but there’d been too many hesitations in her conversation.

Lesson: Don’t make mistakes.

Casualties: One broken wrist, two fractured ribs, punctured lung. 

And those had been before Natalia had set foot back on Russian ground.)

“I study architecture,” Natalia clarified, knitting together the disjointed answers she’d already given out.   

“Ah,” the target said, appearing placated. Her shoe scuffed against the arm of the bench as she lowered it to the ground again, indicating she was about to get going.  “Well, enjoy your stay.  And if you’re missing home, there’s a great bakery that sells _pirozhki_ by the fountain entrance of the park.” She pointed in the direction she meant.

“Thanks,” Natalia muttered.  Hill simply hummed a noise of acknowledgement before jogging away, leaving Natalia to contemplate her words.  

Missing home. It had been a long time since she’d considered any one place her home.  And that was the point, she’d been told.  _To belong everywhere, you must first belong nowhere._

Natalia looked down at her hands.  She was still clinging onto her knife, so she opened her fist, allowing the weapon to glide back into its cover.  

Natalia looked in the direction Hill had taken, watching her retreating figure as it wended towards the imposing gates that were the Triskelion’s outermost security measure.

She looked down at her watch. The target would be encamped in the building for the majority of the day.  Natalia had strict instructions not to carry out her mission on SHIELD’s land, so she hopped to her feet, felt her muscles ache at the realisation there were a lot of hours for her to pass.  

At least she now had a place to eat.

 _Thanks to the target_ , Natalia realised.  The notion was strange, and her mind struggled to process it, the idea nudging her off-kilter.  

She tamped it down. It was a non-essential thought.  This would be done with, by tonight.    

_Time for pirozhki._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this wasn't a very action-heavy chapter, but I'm hoping it establishes Nat's state of mind in the now/then, and sets up things to come! 
> 
> The phrase "to belong everywhere you must first belong nowhere" is a paraphrase from Issue #3 of Edmondson/Noto's run of Black Widow comics.
> 
> I'm using a few elements from the comics, like Latveria and Madripoor as locations, but for the most part I'm sticking to an MCU-based story. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, I'd love to hear your opinions if you have a minute to spare :)


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